


I never knew you were the someone waiting for me

by justine472, Terfle



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terfle/pseuds/Terfle
Summary: It's January 2025 and Bernie and Serena have been separated for 6 years since the parting scene in "The Right Sort of Animal". Tomorrow will be Bernie's 60th birthday and Bernie has plans for her retirement. Far away, Serena senses something is wrong. Her world is about to implode.Chapter titles are taken from Ed Sheeran's 'Perfect' - the song playing at Albie's during Serena and Bernie's last conversation in canon.





	1. your heart is all I own and in your eyes you're holding mine

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please don't read this if you are feeling fragile, or have recently suffered a bereavement. Today I had to put my multi-chapter fic on hold and write out what was in my head. Never in a million years would I wish this to be true in canon, but it's a take on a fictional future. 
> 
> For those of you cursing me for daring to suggest such a future, let me just add that there is a third chapter, which will deal with the aftermath, and it is here that you may find a certain solace. This should be up in a day or so.

_It’s been a funny old day,_ thinks Serena, as she packs her bag and prepares to leave the hospital. Christmas far enough behind to be forgotten, spring so far on the horizon that it offers no hope. As the automatic doors open, a gust of freezing air has her fumbling for gloves and hat. Yes, that same stupid furry thing that Bernie used to poke fun at. Had it more than ten years now. Tomorrow will be Bernie’s 60th birthday. Serena wishes she could send her greetings but she has no idea where in the world Bernie is. Cameron had worked at Holby for four years after his mother left, and Serena could track Bernie through him. But since he married and moved to London, she has had no contact with him, doesn’t even know what hospital he’s working in. Charlotte has similarly vanished into the ether. Serena is sure that Bernie and Jason have some contact still, but Jason won’t open up about that.

 Serena gets in her car and checks her watch: three-thirty, she’s been working part-time for two years now, since her recovery from thyroid cancer, and has been able to offer more in the way of child support to Jason and Greta, both of whom are in full-time employment. Serena drives out of the hospital towards her first destination. The sky is white, not that full -of -promise  whiteness that augurs a bright, fluffy morning, but a sort of dead grey-white. The air is cold but still, heavy, ominous. Serena has felt out of sorts all day, as if she’s coming down with a bug, but as the hours pass and no symptoms manifest themselves, she comes gradually to the realisation that it’s as if she’s waiting for something to happen, something bad. There is a flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she drives carefully up to the kindergarten gates and parks.

 Inside, Blanchefleur Haynes, three and a quarter years old, is being helped on with her little padded anorak by her teacher, Kisi Attah.

 “Auntie Serena”, she calls, trying to pull away before Kisi has finished zipping her up.

 “Fleur, hold still”, commands Kisi, but the little girl is flying into the arms of her great-aunt cum surrogate grandmother.

 It took some time for Jason and Greta to accept that “Fleur” was a much better short form of her name than “Blanche”, which, to Serena, conjured up a middle-aged stripper in a seedy bar somewhere. Besides, Fleur was also the name of Serena’s friend and colleague at the hospital, who delivered both this child and her elder sister, Guinevere.

There had been serious discussions with Kisi about this (in Serena’s view) unfortunate habit of the Haynes’ in naming their children after heroines from Arthurian legends, with Serena determined that they shouldn’t suffer from being teased by other children for them. She had therefore insisted that their names be given in the school register as “Gwen” and “Fleur”.

“Don’t worry, Serena”, Kisi assured her.  “I’ll see to it that they don’t get any flak. I suffered myself as a kid in London. My name means ‘born on Sunday’, but you can imagine what the other kids did with it.”

 Now Serena scoops Fleur up and grabs the little red satchel that Kisi holds out for her.

“Bye Fleur, ‘bye Serena. Say hello to uncle Ric for me.”

 “I will do. Fleur wave goodbye to Kisi”.

Serena puts Fleur in her car seat and checks that the doors are all properly closed. When Greta was pregnant with her second child, Serena had finally managed to get rid of her old, cranky Renault and invest in a new Citroen MPV with space for both children and parents and all their accoutrements. As neither Jason nor Greta drives, Serena is the family’s designated driver, so she takes her role-and their safety- very seriously.

 The second stop is at Guinevere Haynes’ primary school, which they reach ten minutes later. Gwen is ready and at the door, and she comes skipping down the path, singing, as Serena waits by her car.

 “Gwinnie, don’t run, it might be slippery”, calls Serena, as the child starts racing towards her. At six and a half she’s getting too big to scoop up, so Serena opens the back door and lets her settle herself next to her sister.

“Seat belt on”, commands Serena as she prepares to close the door. Gwen first reaches over and kisses her small sister, and Serena feels a sudden lump come to her throat. What did she do to deserve these precious great-nieces? Their joy and innocence are  a balm, especially on a day like today, which Serena is aching to reach the end of, safely.

On arriving home, she is gratified to see lights on and a battered Mini Cooper in the driveway, a sign that Evie is already there. Evie Fletcher, now going on 21, is in her final year of a degree in Paramedic Science at the University of the West of England, and is on placement this term at Holby City hospital. She comes three days per week to help Serena with housework and to prepare the kids’ tea. If Serena gets caught up in an emergency, Evie will also pick the kids up from school and take care of them until Serena can get home.

 The children are bustled inside, coats and shoes removed, toys and colouring books brought out until Evie calls them to the table to eat. Today she has made mini frittatas, putting as many green vegetables as she thinks she can conceal inside, then over- sprinkling with a little cheese and adding her home-made (healthy) baked beans as a concession to kids’ taste buds.

 Serena makes tea for herself and Evie, wishing it wasn’t too early to have a glass of wine.

 “Something wrong, Serena?” asks Evie under cover of the childrens’ bright chatter, ever the perceptive one, noting deeper care lines on her face and the black hollowness of Serena’s eyes.

 “No, just this feeling of ..I don’t know, like something’s about to happen”.

 Evie looks out of the window. “They say it might snow”, she suggests.

 “Right, I’d better get the kids home as soon as. You staying?”

 “I’ll join you for dinner and get going later. I’m on early shift again tomorrow- 6 am start.”

 Serena gets the children home by 6.30, by which time Jason should have arrived. Greta works at home doing something technical with computers that Serena doesn't understand, and she works long hours Monday to Friday.

 Greta opens the door of their small house. “Thank you, Auntie Serena. Would you like to join us for dinner? Jason’s making shepherd’s pie.”

 “That’s most kind of you, Greta, but I have Evie tonight and she’s already prepared food”.

 “OK, bye then. In you come, girls”.

 When Serena gets back to her house, the first wet and messy flakes of snow are falling. Her sense of unease has heightened until she finds it hard to breathe.

  _For God’s sake, pull yourself together, Campbell!_

In the first year after Bernie left, Serena suffered from panic attacks. They would come on without warning, often in inconvenient places. She always dreaded this happening during surgery, and fortunately, it only happened once, and she was operating with Ric, so she managed to excuse herself for 15 minutes until she had calmed down. Her therapist had taught her strategies to head off or manage the attacks, and gradually Serena had brought them under control. As she stills the engine outside her house, she sits for a minute getting her breathing back to normal, imagining ordinary things. She thinks of shepherd’s pie, and this makes her smile. She hasn’t made or eaten shepherd’s pie since Jason and Greta moved into their own house and she wonders if she’ll ever enjoy it again after years of cooking it methodically every Tuesday during the years that Jason lived with her.

As she approaches her front door, brushing snowflakes from her sleeve, she has a sudden clear, sharp image of Bernie, the first time she joined them for dinner, eating Serena’s shepherd’s pie as if it was the finest gourmet cuisine, moaning in pleasure, her eyes sparkling.  Serena feels a stab of pain somewhere in the region of her heart. It’s been a while since Bernie has touched her like this with such immediacy, she doesn’t know where this has come from and she does her best to push it away. It’s not what she needs on a day like today.

Once she has  divested herself of coat, boots and hat and entered the warm kitchen, she is touched to see a  bottle of Shiraz on the table and a glass ready for her. Evie has put out two plates and as Serena sits, she puts brown rice on each plate and ladles over her own-recipe spicy mixed bean chilli, topped with steamed kale.

 “That smells delicious, Evie”, says Serena, who, after years of pizza, burgers and fat and salt-laden takeaways, has finally begun to appreciate real food. Since her brush with cancer, she has also been more or less vegetarian, and Evie has been her enthusiastic guide to vegetarian cooking. Wine, though, is another thing.

“You know I’m not in favour of you drinking”, says Evie, “but I thought today you looked like you needed it.”

 Serena takes a grateful sip of her wine and smiles affectionately at Evie, a surrogate daughter if ever there was one, far more thoughtful, responsible and loving than her own spoilt Elinor ever was. She is just glad that Evie has no idea of how she spends some of those long, empty evenings when she’s alone. Or maybe she can guess.

 “I’ve been meaning to ask you”, Evie says, and pauses.

 “Ask away,” Serena mumbles through a mouthful of spicy sauce.

 “How did you know,….. I mean, what happened when…you knew you were in love with Bernie?”

 Serena stops eating, her heart constricts. She forces herself to continue the conversation calmly.

 “Why are you asking? Is there someone you think you love?”

 “Yeah, it’s like, there’s this guy, a paramedic at the hospital. I’ve been on shift with him for the last 2 months and…I don’t know, it’s just this weird feeling I get when I’m with him. It’s like we connect, when we’re working, I mean. And the way he looks at me, like he really cares.”

 “Did he ask you out?”

 “No, well, not yet. I think he’s afraid of my Dad.”

 Serena laughs, Adrian Fletcher, protective father par excellence, who wouldn’t be scared?

 “OK, so first things first. Why don’t you ask him out? Try to see if it works when you’re out of that hospital environment, that it’s not just a kind of crush on a more experienced colleague.”

 “Really? Do you think I should?”

 “Well, as they say, darling, _carpe diem -_ sieze the day, because sure as hell nothing will  happen if he’s too scared to act.”

 “Is that what you did? With Bernie?”

 Serena pushes her plate away and pours more wine.

“Actually, she started it. She kissed me one day in theatre, it was the day your Dad was stabbed by that mentally ill patient. We had just stabilised him, and we were sitting on the floor of the operating theatre, devastated by what had happened. It came out of the blue.”

Bernie’s eyes connecting with her own after Serena had muttered those immortal words “ _You are the most fantastic, fearless doctor in this entire hospital”_ , then her mouth swooping down to capture Serena’s lips. And her taste, the softness of her lips, all the pent -up desire transmitted through that single kiss. Serena was lost in an instant. She hadn’t expected it, or even thought about kissing Bernie Wolfe, but the moment their lips touched, it was as if a door she had never noticed suddenly opened.  Even now, over 8 years later, the memory sends a bolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Serena’s eyes have darkened with the memory and Evie puts her hand over hers in silent encouragement.

 “Then the silly woman insisted we keep it confined to theatre. Talk about a tease! We danced around each other for weeks, and when we kissed again, she immediately buggered off to Ukraine.”

“I never did understand that, Serena. What exactly happened?”

 “It was my fault actually. I more or less told her I was in love with her and she bolted.”

 “Do you think that might happen with Sergio, my colleague?”

“I think you need to test the water”, Serena says firmly, caressing Evie’s thumb. “Bernie was a bit of a special case- she’d never really come out, you see, and she had no self-confidence. I very much doubt Sergio would be so fragile. Maybe just shy.  But just take it slowly, let it develop.”

 “And what if my dad has a go at him?

 “Oh you can leave Adrian Fletcher to me! This is your time now, Evie, you go for it.”

 “So if Bernie ran away, how did you get her in the end?”

 How indeed? If Serena Campbell could ever claim to have ‘got’ Bernie Wolfe.

“Ah well, she came back, you see. All contrite, trying to make amends. Making a proper mess of it. Then Jason and your dad took matters into their own hands and locked us in the office. So I pounced.”

 Evie giggles delightedly “You pounced? Wow, I would have loved to see that”.

 “Well, pretty much everyone in the vicinity saw that, until Bernie closed the blinds in the office, that is.”

 “And what happened next?”

 “That bit’s censored”, Serena says primly, taking another swig of her Shiraz, but winking at Evie.

Berenice bloody Wolfe! The taste and feel of her, Serena can summon it even now, the way Bernie came alive like someone had turned her switch on, swinging Serena round, pushing her against the wall, the whole length of her body touching Serena’s. In that moment, previously assertive Serena was transformed into a pile of goo, whimpering helplessly against the tide of pure lust that swept through her as she grabbed Bernie’s firm ass and ground against her, kissing deeply, tongues intertwined. Serena remembers the shock of it, the knowing that this is all she had ever wanted and that if they didn’t stop in the next three seconds, they would both be fired for gross indecency.

 “I’m sorry for making you think about that, I know you still love her. Do you know where she is?”

 “No, last I heard it was Armenia, but she seems to move around every three or four years so it could be anywhere”.

 “Do you think she’ll ever come back to you?”

 “No, I don’t think so”, Serena’s tone was final. “But in a way, she’s never left me. There’ll never be anyone else, not now” and she looks down, her eyes starting to  leak.

 Evie feels awkward. She gets up to remove the plates and hugs Serena to her.

 “You know you’re not alone, Serena, we all love you to bits. Me, Dad, Mikey, Theo, Ella, Jason, Greta, the girls… it may not be the same, but we’ve got you”.

 “Thank you, darling, you know you all mean the world to me”, Serena says shakily.

 The world, yes, the world she had chosen over Bernie. Or what Bernie had taken it to mean. _I choose you,_ that’s what Serena had told her, but when it came down to it, she broke that promise. Twice. Once for a quick fumble with an over-confident F1 who had pursued her relentlessly. Super dumb move, Serena, and what was that all about anyway? Fifteen minutes of sexual gratification in return for the F1- a mere slip of a thing and no match for the great Bernie Wolfe- stroking her ego and letting her know who was the boss. 

Then, the second time when Serena said _I’d never forgive myself if you gave it all up for me_ , which, to Bernie, was a bit like saying _I don’t want you to choose me because I’ve chosen something else._ Bernie, typically, took that as her cue to run off again to another continent, muttering something silly about slippers and pushing swings. _You were wrong,_ thinks Serena. She still has the slippers Bernie used to wear when she lived in Serena’s house. And she can definitely remember Bernie pushing Ella Fletcher in the swing at the park when they had the Fletchlings one weekend. Bernie would actually make an awesome grandmother, thinks Serena bitterly. But there you are. The past is the past. Serena couldn’t bring herself to run after Bernie again, to beg Bernie to wait for her to join her when all she really wanted was Bernie right here with her forever. But after all she had done to push Bernie away, her guilt didn’t allow her to say that. And so it was, _que será, será_ and all that. 

When Evie has gone, Serena sits by the window watching the snow falling. The bottle of Shiraz is empty, but no matter how much she drinks, the feeling of dread and anguish is intensifying. She opens a second bottle but after the first glass she puts it away and makes tea. Something is making her restless, gnawing at her insides. She begins getting stabbing pains in her head.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thinks. Come on, find a distraction. She turns on her Bluetooth speaker and hits play on iTunes in her phone. What she gets is Ed bloody Sheeran from several years back-

 _I found a love for me_  
_Darling just dive right in_  
_And follow my lead_  
_Well I found a girl beautiful and sweet_  
_I never knew you were the someone waiting for me_

_But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own  
And in your eyes you're holding mine_

It takes half a minute for her to realise why she absolutely has to turn this off. What the fuck is it even doing in her playlist?  It’s the song that was playing in Albie’s when she and Bernie had that final conversation. Serena hits stop and throws the phone down onto the sofa. Just what is wrong with her tonight? Usually she can suppress these memories, push them away when she wants and only indulge in them when she lets herself, when she is alone and just drunk enough to enjoy them, preferably with a vibrator. That is her vice, a carefully controlled vice that she keeps tucked away out of sight. Tonight her nerves are frayed, her resistance paper-thin. Bernie Wolfe is seeping into the cracks in her armour, tugging on her guilt, exposing her regret, coming to Serena in a tidal wave of memories that she is too feeble to resist.

She went through all this with Elinor- her self-indulgent grieving another thing that pushed Bernie away. It has taken not a few years but she has finally found her peace with Elinor, her death day, just recently marked, is less painful with each passing year. Serena has accepted that Elinor has gone, but it’s with a little shock that Serena understands that she has never seen Bernie’s absence as anything other than temporary, whatever she may tell people.

Serena feels an immediate, crushing need to connect with Bernie. This has happened before but never so urgently, and Serena has suppressed it, thinking that if Bernie wants to contact her, she knows where she is. She reaches again for her phone. She never deleted Bernie’s number, but who’s to say she hasn’t changed it in the years since? Serena remembers that Bernie always used a global UK number in addition to her local number. She has a flashback to them walking in the sun in Nairobi, and Bernie using a small, cheap phone to call a hospital colleague, while her iPhone sits (insecurely) in her jeans pocket. She has two SIM cards, surely.

Feeling foolish, Serena presses “Call”. The number takes time to connect and Serena holds her breath. What will she say? Then the number is ringing and her heart is pounding. Suddenly the ringing stops and she gets the "number unavailable" message. Serena doesn’t know what timezone Bernie is in so she could be sleeping, operating or doing anything at all really. There are umpteen reasons why she might turn her phone off. She never was the world's best communicator. It’s 9.40pm in the UK. Serena paces, makes more tea, watches the snow piling up outside her window, looks at her watch and tries again after 15 minutes. This time she gets the “number unavailable” message immediately.

Her anguish is still acute, but after the second attempt, she realises that it is pointless to keep calling. She drinks more tea to calm herself and turns on the TV for the ten o’clock news. More political shenanigans, riots in some South American country, another outbreak of Ebola somewhere in one of the Congoes, gloom, doom and despair everywhere. And as for the Middle East-

 “ _Reports are coming in of an attack by insurgents on an MSF base in Aleppo, Syria. The project to rebuild Syria after the civil war has not been without incident, but this is the first time militants have targeted an international health project. It is understood that a bomb has just gone off in a wing of the hospital and several people have been killed. We await further reports from our correspondent in Syria”._

Serena turns off the TV, feeling sick. How many times has she heard this kind of news and imagined Bernie there? But tonight she can’t let it go, there’s something tapping her on the shoulder. As a last resort she calls Jason.

 “Auntie Serena, it’s late, is there something wrong? “

 “Jason, this is kind of…silly, but do you happen to know where Bernie is right now? I mean, I know she sometimes kept in touch with you by email.”

 “Ye-es, I do know. But she told me not to tell you unless there was an emergency.”

 “Jason..I feel, I’m not sure, but I think this might be an emergency. Please just tell me which country she’s in. “

 “She’s in Syria, Auntie Serena.”

 “Oh my God! Jason, did you see the news just now? “

 “No, we were watching an old Doctor Who episode.”

 "Jason, please do me a favour. Use any source you can think of to get the latest news from Syria and let me know if it’s possible Bernie was there.”

 Ten minutes later, Jason calls back.

 “I’m so sorry, Auntie Serena, but she is with MSF in Aleppo. That’s the place that’s just been bombed.”

 Serena bursts into tears, sobbing “I knew it, I knew it, I could feel something…. Jason, please try to find out if she’s OK”.

 “I’m coming over, Auntie Serena, I’ll get a taxi. You shouldn’t be alone”.

  


	2. darling, you look perfect tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena's premonition of danger is proved correct.

**Aleppo, Monday, 13 thJanuary, 2025**

Bernie Wolfe straightens up and rubs the back of her neck. Her watch tells her it is close to 10pm. She’s been operating for seven straight hours and her back hurts. A rumble in her stomach also reminds her that she hasn’t eaten since a quick falafel wrap at lunchtime, so she grabs her hoodie from the locker room and heads for the canteen.

Although it’s late at night, the canteen is a 24 hour operation and always busy. Bernie sees her colleague, Pierre, sitting at a nearby table and after picking up a bowl of soup and some flatbread and baba ganoush, she goes to join him.

“Long night!”

 “It certainly is. I thought those insurgents had given up, but hitting the university like that- it was so unexpected.”

 “Do you think we’re in any danger here?” she asks

 Pierre pauses. “We might be”, he says finally. “Who knows what they’ll do? We have UN protection but that means nothing to them.”

Bernie says nothing more, but smiles at Pierre and finishes her meal. Afterwards she goes outside and sits in the cold, crisp air to smoke a cigarette. Tomorrow is her 60thbirthday, and she intends to hand in her notice and retire from active overseas work. She has a plan for her retirement, a plan shared with her daughter, Charlotte, who is carrying out the first part of  that plan at this moment.  

She pulls out her phone and looks at the picture on her lock screen. Serena. The love of her life. Another part of her retirement plan. She thinks of Enobarbus’ speech from Shakespeare’s _Antony and Cleopatra_ :

  _Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale_  
_Her infinite variety: other women cloy_  
_The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry_  
_Where most she satisfies;_

No other woman Bernie had been with could hold a candle to Serena Campbell. In truth, there hadn’t been many. Her disappointment at the discovery that Serena had spoiled her for anyone else meant she had virtually given up trying. The last experience, with Lena, an Israeli doctor she met in Turkey, was particularly excruciating and she had no desire to repeat such a failure. Instead she had to be content with her memories of Serena.

She has kept in touch with Jason by email, and made it clear that if ever Serena is in any sort of trouble or needs her, she will return. When Serena got the cancer diagnosis, however, Bernie didn’t find out until Serena was recovering. She had gone off grid for a while in Armenia, where firewalls and poor internet connectivity meant that she had not been in contact with Jason for at least two months. When she finally made her way to an internet café in Istanbul, the world had come back in. Only Cameron and Charlotte had her phone number. And Serena, of course, although it was perfectly possible that she had deleted it after Bernie’s disappearance from her life. Bernie didn’t want to turn up like the Masked Crusader only to disappear again. She had the feeling that that would only meet with deep disapproval from Serena, so she stayed out, adventuring, until she burnt herself out and was ready to go home. That moment was fast approaching. After resigning tomorrow, she would work out her notice and alert Cameron, Charlotte and Jason to her plan for the next part of her life. A life that she very much hoped would bring her and Serena back together.

She looks at her watch, coming up to 11pm. Time to check on the patients, then try to grab some sleep.

Thirty minutes later, Bernie Wolfe exits the Trauma wing of the MSF hospital where she has been tending to the victims of the university attack, and is heading back towards the staff residence block. Suddenly a shadow crosses her path-

 “Hey – what are you…?”

The shadow materialises in front of her, a man in his thirties, bearded, wearing military fatigues. Hate burns in his eyes. He spits unintelligible words at her in Arabic, and then he is gone, running fast, sprinting across the courtyard and scaling the wall at the back.

 Bernie stops in her tracks, her heart pounding. Who is this guy? She needs to alert security. She turns to go back but gets no more than five steps when there is an ear -splitting boom and everything goes black.

 ***

  **Holby, Tuesday 14 thJanuary, 2025. **

Serena has finally managed to fall asleep, Jason in the spare room. They have scoured every internet site possible for news from Aleppo, but no names have yet emerged. Serena’s anguish is intense, she has never known anything like this, even when Elinor was dying. It is a different kind of pain, one she can’t describe, as if she herself is the one dying.

Serena falls asleep at around midnight, exhausted from sobbing, from fear of losing Bernie, from not knowing. At precisely three am, she is suddenly wide awake. Lying alone in the cold darkness she feels her limbs tingling, growing warmer, the air thickening, a warm current like a shroud covering her entire body in a tight embrace. She struggles to breathe, a hot band around her chest tightening until she cries out in pain. Then suddenly it’s gone, the pain recedes, the air cools and she is once more lying in the cold dark, alone.

 She knows. She knows what it is, but her body drags her back into sleep, her muscles now relaxed, all tension gone.

When Serena goes downstairs at seven the next morning Jason is sitting at the kitchen table holding his phone, tears rolling down his cheeks. He holds the phone out to Serena.

Serena looks at him. She says, “She’s gone, Jason, I felt her go”.

  _Newsflash: Medecins Sans Frontieres has confirmed that among the lives claimed from the bomb in Aleppo yesterday is that of leading UK trauma surgeon, Dr. Berenice Wolfe. Dr. Wolfe, a 25 year veteran of the RAMC, and most recently, surgeon assigned to humanitarian projects in Sudan, Kenya, Armenia and Lebanon, was part of the team rebuilding Syrian medical capacity in the aftermath of the civil war. She was caught in the explosion and survived for several hours as her colleagues attempted unsuccessfully to save her. This was Dr. Wolfe’s last year of active service and she was expected to retire within six months._

_***_

**Aleppo, Tuesday, 14 thJanuary, 2025. 5am local time (3am UK time)**

Ed bloody Sheeran, Bernie had never liked his songs, and why did that have to be the one playing when she and Serena had their final conversation, in Albie’s, on the day of Jason’s wedding? Now it’s playing on a loop in her head. She can see the picture Jason sent of Guinevere, six, and new daughter Fleur, now three. She’s so happy for them, that everything worked out, that they are growing, strong and healthy, and she’s so sorry that she won’t make it back to share in their happiness.

Cameron, thank God, has finally grown up, married a lovely girl from Costa Rica, and is working as a registrar in London. Charlotte, too, is happily partnered and is Bernie’s secret weapon in her new plan. Charlotte’s a great kid, she’ll make sure that everything is done properly. Which leaves only Serena, beautiful Serena, love of her life. Not as she last saw her, careworn,  face bearing the weight of her guilt,  but as she was in France, in the sunshine, her yellow summer dress, the red of her wine- stained lips, her deep chocolate eyes and that sexy smile. And her voice. Bernie wants to sleep with the sound of that voice in her head, and that picture of her so beautiful in that dress. Hold the image, freeze it, there, that’s it. That’s everything really. Now she can let go.

  _But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own  
And in your eyes you're holding mine_

 _Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favourite song_  
_When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath_  
_But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight_


	3. I know we'll be alright this time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie's funeral has been and gone and Serena is struggling. She gets a call out of the blue from a London solicitor, leading to a very surprising revelation that will change her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not happen as quickly as planned- I always over-write and I had to cut it down, but there were so many ideas that I may add a little epilogue - that is if people have not had enough. Please comment, I may need motivating to do this! And once this is laid to rest, I'm definitely going back to my happy ever afters!

**February 3rd, 2025**

Serena’s phone begins to vibrate on the coffee table, jumping impatiently against the wood in time to the throbbing of her head.  Not another bloody well-wisher, she hopes. The number is unfamiliar and has a London prefix. Better see what this is about, she thinks.

 “Serena Campbell” she says with the slight brusqueness she has cultivated since the avalanche of condolence calls started breaking into her privacy.

 “Ms Campbell, my name is Neil McGregor, of McGregor, Farzat and Payne, solicitors for the late Dr. Berenice Wolfe.” A Scottish accent. Polite.

 “And how can I help you, Mr. McGregor?” she asks.

 “Dr. Wolfe left certain stipulations in her will that relate to you and we would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss this as soon as possible”.

 Serena ponders this for a few seconds, hauling herself upright and closing her eyes against the wave of nausea that accompanies the movement.

 “And where would this meeting take place?” she asks.

 “One of my partners, Julia Payne, also has a legal practice in Holby, so we propose coming to you. Would tomorrow at ten suit?”

What on earth has Bernie been up to, thinks Serena, that she can get a firm of London solicitors to come to meet her in Holby? She knows that Bernie sold her house in 2018, and as far as she was aware, she didn’t buy another one. _She must have had a fair bit stashed away,_ thinks Serena, remembering that Bernie’s trauma placements -after the NHS, of course- were all highly paid, yet she hardly spent a cent on herself, almost setting a fashion trend in surgical scrubs, and subsisting on canteen food and takeaways (while miraculously managing always to look more like a model on a kale and pomegranate diet).

Serena was naturally assuming that anything Bernie had would go to her children. She hopes that Bernie didn’t make financial provision for her in her will. Serena neither wanted nor needed Bernie’s money. All she had ever wanted was the infuriating woman herself.

Finding herself with 24 hours to speculate on what the meeting will be about, Serena gets painfully to her feet and goes in search of a full cafetiere  of best Colombian and a handful of paracetamol and Vitamin C.

Bernie’s funeral had taken place the previous week. MSF had had her body transported back to the UK in a closed coffin, and Cameron, with help from Henrik Hanssen, had arranged the service in Holby. At some point the RAMC had obviously got in on the act because the coffin was borne by four sturdy Army medics, one of them, as Dom pointed out to her, Bernie’s former lover, Alex Dawson, back in uniform. Serena had been dreading the funeral, as she had dreaded Elinor’s, but she couldn’t stay away, so she self- medicated with Valium (foregoing the Shiraz in the interests of decorum, no one wanting to see an inebriated former partner losing it in public), and, to her surprise, found that it was a warm, supportive group of people who had gathered to see Bernie off. The Rev. Lexy Dunblane had done the honours, and there had been personal contributions from Bernie’s MSF colleague, Pierre, who described the events leading up to the explosion, Bernie’s old commanding officer from the RAMC, as well as Henrik Hanssen, Cameron and, to Serena’s enormous surprise, Jason. She found herself gasping as her nephew, in a new, smart black suit, handed his three year old daughter to his wife and made his way to the lectern.

As Jason looked around the sea of faces, preparing to speak, Serena felt someone squeeze into the pew next to her, and a hand touch her arm. She turned her head and saw that it was Charlotte, looking so much like Bernie that Serena felt her eyes fill with tears. Charlotte took her hand and held it between her own.

 “He’s come such a long way”, she whispered through her own tears, and Serena nodded proudly.  Jason cleared his throat.

 “When my wife, Greta, and I got married six years ago, I asked Bernie to give a speech at my wedding. I know she didn’t want to do it because, as she always said, she hated public speaking. But she did it for me. So here I am, I’m not good at public speaking either, but I’m doing this for Bernie, because that’s what friends do. “

 Charlotte is gripping Serena’s hand tightly as the tears well up.

“Bernie was the sort of friend any person would have wanted. She was kind and generous, for one thing, especially when she let me win on Countdown. She was much better at Maths than me, but she always pretended she wasn’t so that I could win. She wasn’t so good with words, in fact she often had great difficulty in expressing herself, and used to make Auntie Serena angry when she didn’t answer her phone or text messages. She also often made a mess of the kitchen when she tried to cook- she was almost as bad at cooking as she was at talking, I think. But she was the best trauma surgeon this country had to offer, so it didn’t matter that she burnt the shepherd’s pie and her mashed potatoes were all lumpy.”

People were starting to grin now and Serena felt a little bubble of laughter escape through her suppressed sobs. Over to her left, she could see Marcus Dunn laughing quietly, and she sensed rather than saw Charlotte’s smile.

“I will miss Bernie. I haven’t actually seen her for two years and four months but she sent me emails about the places she went to, and she asked for photographs of our children, so we stayed penpals. It’s hard when someone’s not here any more and you know you’ll never see them again. The most important thing I learned from Bernie was always to be honest and true to myself. Bernie had to overcome a lot of challenges to be true to herself and she encouraged me to be confident, and not to give in to bullies. I’m only standing here today because she helped me to be what I am.  My greatest wish is for my two daughters to grow up to be like her, so that she will always be with us.”

Jason stepped down to a buzz of conversation all around. For a moment Serena thought people were going to clap, then it passed and Jason returned to his seat. Two years and four months, though-  Jason had a few questions to answer.

Serena is deeply grateful that Cameron and Charlotte, as well as her Holby colleagues, had realised that asking her to play any active role in Bernie’s funeral would have been too much. Somehow she got through it without disgracing herself, and even managed to attend the social gathering afterwards, (one couldn’t really call it a party), sticking to lime soda, not daring to mix wine with temazepam.

At one point, Henrik Hanssen, himself a man who had lost both his son and the woman he loved within the space of a year, had come over to her and wrapped his arms silently around her. Serena had hugged him back, thanking him for his kindness and consideration.

 “We’re here if you need us”, he said quietly before disappearing.

Reflecting on all this now, as her hangover clears, Serena realises that, except for Jason’s single reference to her, there had been an enormous silence during the funeral about her relationship with Bernie. Not that Serena had wanted to be a focus of attention, but the ghost at the funeral had been precisely that. As if they had never been what they were to each other. For the first time she wonders if that was deliberate on someone’s part. Or whether the thread that binds them has not yet been severed.

When Evie arrives after her shift, she finds Serena trying to press a navy suit that hasn’t seen the light of day since Fleur’s christening. Evie has moved in with her, with Fletch’s blessing (“Someone’s got to ration the Shiraz!”), but Evie’s early shifts as a paramedic mean that she retires shortly after dinner, leaving Serena wandering her house at night searching for traces of Bernie. One morning Evie found Serena passed out on the sofa clutching an old Nike trainer that Bernie had abandoned after the other one was chewed up by a dog. Another time she was comatose in the spare room where Bernie had left a box of her things, now strewn all over the bed. Evie wondered whether Serena had been digging these things out in bouts of drunken nostalgia for 6 years, or whether she just left them, believing Bernie would return. Putting a pair of fluffy slippers, two pairs of holey socks, a washed- out RAMC T-shirt, a framed photograph of a bunch of young people in camo fatigues, four chewed biros and a copy of  Frederick Forsyth's “The Dogs of War” back into the box, Evie wondered why Serena hadn’t chucked these things out long ago. Ah well. She put the box back into the wardrobe.

 Now, coming across Serena at the ironing board she is surprised.

 “Hey, what’s this? Got a date?” she asks.

 “Well, yes, after a fashion”, and Serena explains the meeting tomorrow with Bernie’s solicitor.

 “What do you think she’s left you, then?” asks Evie.

 “God knows”, snorts Serena, apprehension nevertheless creeping into her tone.

Serena drinks only tea that evening and retires at the same time as Evie, citing the need for a hot bath and a spot of escapist reading. Evie recognises the battered copy of “The Dogs of War” tucked under her arm.

***

Payne Family Solicitors is located in an unassuming building off Holby High Street. Serena has taken a taxi, knowing that parking spaces in the centre of the city are rare beasts, and not fancying  a long walk in the freezing cold. She has a camel overcoat atop the navy suit, which seems to have expanded since the last time she wore it. The jacket is hanging off her hips and she had to put a belt on the trousers. She has added a colourful silk scarf to the outfit, a gift from Jason and Greta on her last birthday, to distract from her evident weight loss. 

 Serena rings the bell and is buzzed in, kicking slush off her boots. Footsteps sound close by and then Cameron is there.

 “Serena, how good to see you”, he greets her warmly, kissing her on the cheek.

 “And the same to you. How’s married life?”

 “Good, very good. A new Wolfe cub is due to make his or her appearance any day now”, he says.

 Serena follows him as he heads for the stairs at the back. "Well, congratulations! Bernie would be very proud”.

Cameron smiles and leads her into a pleasant upstairs room with a view of the trees at the rear of the building. He ushers her in and closes the door behind them, indicating a comfortable chair for Serena to sit in, and taking her coat. Serena sees Charlotte sitting across the circular table from her but before she can speak, a slight, fair haired  man in the centre of the room stands and reaches across to shake her hand.

 “I’m Neil McGregor, we spoke on the phone. It’s a pleasure to meet you Serena.”

 “And..er, likewise”, she says.

He extends his arm towards the others. “Charlotte you know, and next to her is Sofie Madsen, whose presence we will explain shortly. There’s quite a lot of information we have to give you about the affairs of your late, er, ex-partner, so I suggest you get your coffee order in now as you may need it once we get going”.

 Somewhat taken aback, Serena orders a black coffee, wondering what on earth this is all about.

“Firstly", Neil continues, “let’s deal with the basic requirements of her will. Bernie had approximately five hundred  thousand pounds in savings and investments from her salary and the sale of her house and car in the UK, which she has asked to be divided equally between Cameron and Charlotte.”  

 Serena nods. Pretty much as expected.

 “Then there is a small box of her personal effects which she asked to go to you. Charlotte will give you this when we have finished.”

 Serena swallows hard.

 “She also purchased the house now owned by your nephew, Jason Haynes.”

 “But….Jason and Greta bought that house with a mortgage…I gave them the deposit”,  Serena stammers, wondering _what did I miss_?

“Correct. But what Jason is unaware of is that Bernie first purchased the house, then transferred it to their names and arranged what they thought was the mortgage. In fact, it was our legal partner, Aziz Farzat, who created this scheme whereby your deposit and the monthly payments went into a trust fund for their children. Jason and Greta legally own the house, it’s paid for. They can decide themselves what to do with the money which has accrued. Bernie’s only stipulation is that it is for the children. Charlotte and I are going to talk to Jason later this afternoon.”

 Serena is speechless.

 “And now we come to the main part of her will,” he pauses and looks over at Sofie, who passes him a file.

 Serena wipes her eyes and takes a hit of coffee to help focus her attention. This is more and more astonishing. Bernie Wolfe, the woman she clearly hardly knew.

 “Bernie inherited almost two million pounds from the estate of her late father’s sister, Mabel Wolfe, five years ago. “

 Serena nearly spits her coffee out.

 “There’s a bit of a back story here – Cameron, would you…?”

 “Great aunt Mabel was a researcher for big pharma companies most of her life. She lived  in Liverpool, and also taught at the university. When Mum was younger she encouraged her to study Sciences and to go for Medicine- she wasn’t so keen when Mum joined the Army, but still they kept in touch. When Aunt Mabel was in her fifties, she suddenly resigned from her job and started working on philanthropic projects. She had made a lot of money, and now she started using that money for charitable purposes. When she died she left all her fortune to Mum, on condition that it was used for good. Mum told us about this and explained that she would set up a Trust of some sort to make the best use of it. Over to you, Charlie.”

 Charlotte turns her soft, brown gaze on Serena.

"You probably know, Serena, that I studied Law at university. After graduating I trained as a solicitor for three years. I was just completing my training when Mum inherited the money, and we talked about how to deal with it. She wanted me to be responsible for setting up a Trust, but I wasn’t really confident about handling all that money. Mum had a solicitor friend in London that she had met in Iraq- Neil and Julia’s partner, Aziz Farzat, he’s a finance specialist, so she went to him and asked him to take care of the funds while we researched setting up a Trust. It ended up with me going to Copenhagen to do an MBA, and then we decided that that’s where we would set up the Trust. In that time I had also met my partner, Sofie,“ she smiles at Sofie across the room, a slightly shy, crooked Bernie Wolfe smile. Sofie lights up, the  love radiating between them like a sunbeam.

 “I’m a financial analyst”, Sofie says, with just a touch of an accent, “and when Charlie told me about her mother’s money we came up with a plan for her.”

“Enter Wolfe-Madsen”, smiles Charlotte. “We set up a legal firm in Copenhagen to administer the Trust, then worked with Aziz in London to transfer the money and get it all set up. In five years, Aziz has helped the Trust amount grow to almost four million pounds.”

 Serena is amazed- all this going on and she had no idea. But this had happened since Bernie left her, so how would she have known? She fumbles for a question.

 “What does the Trust do, exactly?”

“OK, well its full name is the Wolfe Education Trust for Syrian and Iraqi War Victims, or the Wolfe Trust for short. It provides funding for children from Syria and Iraq, whose families have been affected by wars, to study any health-related course overseas. The aim is for them to return to their own country, or work in another country suffering from the aftermath of war, and to use their skills to help the local community.”

 “Wow”, says Serena, “that’s amazing”.

“It’s taken us three years to get this up and running”, adds Sofie, “because it’s quite complex. We have to fund- raise and find ways of ensuring our commitments are met. We don’t just hand out money, either, there are lots of tricky decisions involved.”

 “Yes,” adds Charlotte, “Mum had all these ideas but I’m afraid the fine print has been a bit of a nightmare. We’ve started by awarding an academic scholarship- the Dr. Berenice Wolfe Scholarship- to 4 outstanding high school graduates per year from those countries, and we monitor them to make sure they follow the plan.”

 “This is all fascinating”, says Serena, thinking, how typical of Bernie that she would want to help those she had worked amongst in Syria and Iraq, “but where do I come in?”

 Charlotte looks at Neil.

“Well, the second phase of the Trust’s plan is around the adoption of girls who would otherwise have no means of studying beyond primary or secondary school. Before the fatal explosion, Bernie had been working with orphanages and schools in Damascus and Aleppo to find a means of identifying suitable candidates. It took a lot of work on the legal side to find the best way to get these children out of Syria and Iraq and into another country. Aziz, Sofie and Charlotte have been on fact-finding trips to both Baghdad and Damascus, and have finally established a bona fide legal channel to get adoptees into both the UK and Denmark.” He pauses, and Charlotte takes up the narrative.

“Mum had her resignation from MSF planned for her 60th birthday. She was coming home, Serena, to run the UK end of the Trust, and you were a part of her plan. She was checking on you, talking to Jason, trying to find out if you would be happy for her to come back. The thing is, she had already adopted the first girl herself. She got to know her, we’ve met her, all the paperwork is done. She even has a passport in the name of Wolfe.”

Serena’s head is reeling. Bernie had adopted a teenage girl? Bernie who called her parenting skills “non-existent” and who had run away from domesticity? She is still trying to make sense of this when Neil chips in:

“Bernie knew she was in a dangerous place, so she took steps to ensure that if she was killed, everything would be taken care of, including Sara, the girl she has just adopted. She’s fourteen and doing well at school. She wants to study Medicine. Bernie has already got a place for her at a private school in Holby with language support. Her tuition fees will be paid by the Trust until she finishes her university degree. In her will, Bernie stipulates that if anything should happen to her, she would like you, Serena, to be her guardian.”

 Charlotte adds “Sara is from a Christian minority family, which is why it was easier to adopt her than a Muslim girl. Her parents were killed in the Civil war when she was small and she’s been brought up by an aunt who can no longer afford to support her. Would you be willing to take her on, Serena, as Mum  wished?  I know, it’s a bit of a shock- do you need some time to think about it?”

 Serena doesn't need any time. She knows exactly what she wants to do. "I'd be honoured to be her guardian", she says.

The meeting stretches into a sandwich lunch with Cameron and Charlotte while Neil and Sofie get to work on the administrative details. Serena is in a daze. There are so many new things to think about. When she leaves, with promises of support from the Wolfe cubs for their new adopted sister, she is carrying a box of Bernie’s things and an urn containing Bernie’s ashes. Cameron had taken her aside and, in a voice that was breaking, had pointed out  there was no one who would have known how to take better care of her.

“I know you’ve been apart these last six years”, he said, “but in her heart there was only ever one soulmate for Bernie Wolfe, and that’s you, Serena. If you could only have seen her face every time she talked about you.“

“So why did she stay out there, stupid woman?” sighed Serena. “Why didn’t she tell me she wanted to come home? God knows it’s been so lonely these last few years. If she could only have talked to me, she could be here now, not ..not ..there”, pointing at the urn.

 “I think she was afraid to keep doing her disappearing act. She wasn’t ready to settle, perhaps. She felt she still had work to do, especially since she inherited Aunt Mabel’s fortune.”

When she gets home, Serena puts the urn on the mantelpiece and the box on the dining table and picks up a fresh bottle of Shiraz. As she is reaching for the corkscrew, she has the strangest feeling that she is being observed. There’s no one there. Evie is taking the children to Fletch and Jac’s for tea so she won’t be home till at least 6.30. Serena hesitates then puts the bottle back and makes a pot of Earl Grey. Taking a deep breath, she opens the box.

On top is a letter addressed to her, which she puts carefully to one side. The other items have been carefully folded and arranged.  One set of Holby City Trauma Doctor scrubs in extra long; one key to Serena’s front door (deliberately retained or overlooked?); one yellowing  copy of “The Art of War” inscribed in a hasty hand – _To Serena, you should read this, B. xxx;_ one iPod Nano well past its sell-by date. Curious, Serena hits ‘Play’, knowing it will work.

  _…………we're so in love_  
_Fighting against all odds_  
_I know we'll be alright this time_  
_Darling, just hold my hand_

She grimaces. That bloody Ed Sheeran song. She snaps it off, still unable to listen to it. The next item is one framed photograph of the two of them laughing – must be in France, as Serena is wearing her yellow sun dress; and one well-used but immaculate stethoscope in a case marked ‘Sara’.

 Wiping her eyes, Serena opens the letter. A photo falls out of Bernie with her arm around a dark haired, dark-eyed girl with bright, happy eyes.

  _My darling Serena,_

_If you’re reading this it means I didn’t make it out of there. The last few days we’ve all been feeling jumpy, and so I took the precaution of leaving this in case._

_Don’t weep for me - I know there are regrets, missed opportunities, lost time and broken promises -on both sides. It’s too late for that now. The future is for our children and grandchildren. I’m heartbroken that I won’t get to see my first, but I have tried to do what I could for those I love. And of course, now there is the Wolfe Trust and, most importantly, Sara. She’s a lovely girl. I’ve been meeting her now for over six months and she’s so excited to be going to the UK. I’ve told her all about you, that you would be like an auntie to her. She’s going to take this hard, so I’m hoping you can be more than just an auntie. You’re the only person in the world I trust to do this properly, to honour the promise I made to Sara’s family._

_You aren’t aware, Serena, but I’ve been watching you, and talking to Jason and Ric. I believe you have missed me as much as I have missed you. So now I’m coming home, just not as planned. Please take care of Sara for me, she’s your family now, as are Cam and Charlotte and the Wolfe Trust, who will be there to help and support you both._

_I’ll be watching over you until we meet again._

_All my love,_

  _Bernie xxxxx_

When Evie let herself in, she found a strange urn on the mantelpiece, and Serena deeply, peacefully asleep on the sofa, tea gone cold in the pot, a photograph clutched to her chest.

 


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's ten years after Bernie's death and the Campbell-Wolfe-Haynes family is gathered in Cambridge for Sara's graduation. Serena, however, has a secret that she shares only with Bernie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "little" epilogue grew to 3,000 words, but I hope it has captured the spirit of the amazing character that was, can still be, Bernie Wolfe. Now we have her and Serena's adopted daughter, Sara Khaddaj Campbell-Wolfe, who could be the star of her own series. I might just have a future fic on my hands there!

**Cambridge, July, 2035**

The sun flashes blindingly through the trees and Serena adjusts her sunglasses as she moves across the cloister to the great Hall, where the graduation ceremony will be held. In front of her are Jason, Greta, Gwen and Fleur, keen to get seats from where they can take pictures. Next come Cameron, with his 10 year old son, Luis, and his wife, Tina. Serena is holding three year old Olivia, secretly her favourite, a Wolfe through and through, quiet and thoughtful with Bernie’s puppy dog brown eyes. Charlotte and Sofie arrive last, delayed by a traffic jam on the motorway. They flew in last night from Copenhagen, having left their young twins at home with Sofie’s parents.  The Campbell-Wolfe-Haynes family all sit in one row, and Serena passes the now wriggling Olivia back to Tina.

 “Where’s Sara?” asks Luis in a plaintive voice.

 “She’s getting ready to go on the stage to get her degree certificate”, whispers Serena.

It has been a long, hard, but immensely rewarding ten years as Serena (with not a little help from Evie, Jac and Donna) has groomed and supported Sara from awkward 14 year through her metamorphosis into brilliant student, winning a full scholarship from Holby Grammar to Cambridge, and setting herself well on the road to medical stardom.

 Serena is bursting with pride, and more than content with her life. Today she has a new suit and haircut, the silver vixen look touched up, the overall effect belying her 70 years.

 “You look fabulous, Serena”, whispers Charlotte, giving her that Bernie smile. “No new lady on your horizon?”

“I have all I could wish for,” is Serena’s response.  Early retirement from Holby City Hospital  at 62 allowed her to take over the Holby office of the Wolfe Trust, which she has run efficiently now for 8 years. In addition to Sara, they have four adoptees from Syria and Iraq living in south-west England and the Dr. Berenice Wolfe Scholarship is now graduating twenty students of health-related subjects per year from top universities in the UK, the USA, Denmark and Sweden. Sofie and Charlotte have expanded the operation in Copenhagen and opened offices in Stockholm and New York, with Charlie flying constantly between them. The arrival of their twins three years ago made them realise that she needed to slow down a bit,  so they had co-opted Aziz Farzat, who now worked exclusively for the Trust from his law firm in London, and who today is attending a graduation ceremony in Boston.

Serena feels fully a part of this amazing Wolfe family. The pain of losing Bernie has never quite gone, but it has become a more delicious pain when she sees what they have created with Bernie’s legacy.

Her musings are interrupted by the Dean of the Medical School, announcing the Vice-Chancellor who will  say a few words to start the ceremony off.

 As the Vice-Chancellor  talks, Serena looks around the Hall, and can see the graduates in their gowns and mortar boards lining up on either side of the stage. She cranes her neck for a glimpse of Sara, but her eyesight is not what it was when she used to perform intricate vascular surgery every day, and all the black gowns are bleeding in to one another. On her left side, Guinevere, now a striking, composed sixteen year old, nudges her and points “There she is”. Squinting through her glasses, Serena follows the line of her finger, and yes, there’s Sara, her face serious, she’s nervous, Serena can see. Her heart goes out to her. Sara, brilliant though she is, tends to have a bit of Bernie’s social awkwardness when it comes to public speaking. They both know that today she will be required to make a short speech, so Serena hopes she can keep herself together.

Finally, the graduates come forward, one at a time, to receive their medical degrees. It all happens quickly. Cam, Jason, Gwen, Sofie are all trying to get the best shots with their smartphones. Serena leaves them to it, she knows she will get copies. Her heart soars with pride as she hears them announce “Sara Khaddaj Campbell—Wolfe” and here she is, her and Bernie’s adopted daughter, stumbling a little as she mounts the stage, but then walking confidently up to the Vice-Chancellor, who shakes her hand and murmurs “Very well done, my dear”. Serena wipes a tear, as befits a proud mother, and looks round for Charlie, but she has disappeared. Sofie reaches over and squeezes Serena’s hand.

After the awards, the Vice-Chancellor has more to say. She wants to mention the exceptional contribution to Medicine of The Wolfe Trust.

“On this day, Cambridge University alone has four out of its two hundred and fifty medical graduates from The Wolfe Trust, all of them from the former war zones of Syria and Iraq. This year, around the world, The Wolfe Trust will be congratulating a total of twenty successful young graduates in health-related subjects, an extraordinary achievement for a small Trust. Furthermore, two of those Cambridge graduates, despite the numerous barriers to success in their path, achieved full scholarships on their own merit, competing against candidates from the UK and around the world. The University of Cambridge School of Medicine would today like to honour the work of The Wolfe Trust by granting its highest award, that of Outstanding Medical Graduate, to Dr. Sara Khaddaj Campbell-Wolfe.”

The Hall goes wild as people clap and cheer, and Sara stumbles back up to the podium, Charlotte materialising behind her, a steadying hand on her arm. Serena holds her breath as Sara starts speaking, thanking the Vice-Chancellor and the University for this award.

“The person I really need to thank cannot be here today, but it is because of her that the Trust exists, and because of her that we, the children of the former war zones of Syria and Iraq, have been able to study in the world’s greatest universities and have the opportunity to advance the frontiers of medical knowledge. Dr. Berenice Wolfe was one of the UK’s, if not the world’s, leading trauma surgeons when she was prematurely killed by a bomb in Syria ten years ago. Her legacy lives on today in us- and especially in me, as I was fortunate to have been adopted by Dr. Wolfe before she died. Thanks to her, and to my wonderful Campbell-Wolfe family, I had an opportunity that was unimaginable to most young Syrians of my generation. I am therefore accepting this award on behalf of The Wolfe Trust, with our pledge to do all we can to make this a better world for everyone.”

Serena claps until her hands are numb, her heart bursting with pride. Sara looks so earnest standing up there and Serena knows she means every word of what she said. She can’t count the sleepless nights she has had every time Sara goes back to Syria, with flashbacks to the night that Bernie died. Sara is sensible and intelligent but not all that streetwise. Serena didn’t allow her to go until she was almost 20, and then she insisted on Aziz accompanying her. Syria is still dangerous. Serena once visited Damascus with Sara, and she saw immediately what Bernie had loved about the Arab world. The warmth of the people, the sincerity of the hospitality, the dry desert air, cloudless blue skies, the purity of it – Serena could feel Bernie all around her as Sara took her to the places that Bernie had loved. But unlike Sara, Serena could sense hidden dangers- in the looks of certain young men, in the way conversation in a café might hush when they passed, in the glances directed to them as they wandered through back streets. Sara had grown up here, she felt no fear because the war was over and she had been a child, not always aware of adult concerns; but the war had long been over when Bernie was killed. It didn’t mean everyone had forgotten or was happy with the status quo.

Sara steps back to tumultuous applause, and Charlotte is there to escort her offstage.  The Vice-Chancellor brings the ceremony to a close, and people start to file out. As they make their way to the refreshment tent, Sara is suddenly by her side.

“How did I do? Up to Bernie’s standards?” she asks. Serena hugs her tight, this awkward, brilliant, kind young woman she has come to love with every fibre of her being.

“Oh darling”, she half-sobs, half-laughs “you were much better. Bernie always hated public speaking. She’d have shrivelled up if she had to do that”, and they laugh together, and with Charlotte, who has overheard and nods in agreement. 

Her group has grabbed a table and Jason, Cameron and Sofie are ferrying drinks and plates of food to everyone. It’s a happy scene, there are toasts, pictures, hugs, and Serena wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  During a lull in the selfies and instagramming, Sara asks, pleading:

“Tell me again about when Bernie gave the speech at Jason’s wedding”. Serena rolls her eyes. It was a hastily assembled crew from the hospital who attended the makeshift ceremony in the Peace Garden that day. Serena hasn’t the heart to tell Sara, but the memory is still painfully raw, even 16 years later. Only a couple of hours after that ceremony, Bernie left, never to return to Serena.  Those were their last few hours together.

Serena dutifully recounts the funny speech Bernie had come up with, all about animals who matched, who were “right” for each other. It was known in their family as “The Right Sort of Animal” speech. Jason had obtained a copy of it and used it on many occasions to bolster his arguments. Gwen and Fleur thought it hilarious, Gwen saying she was sure auntie Bernie had been taking the piss, which always set Jason off. Greta simply smiled, never wishing to hurt Jason, but Serena could see she was fifty percent with the girls.

Sometimes Serena wondered herself. Had Bernie, panicking about not having given time to this task, simply engaged with Wikipedia? Or had she really come up with this rather unique, and let’s face it, somewhat philosophical approach to relationships after a suitable period of reflection?  If Serena had to bet, her money would be on last minute Wiki. Serena had never really bought it. The fact that Bernie then used the “Not the Right Sort of Animal” argument to let Serena off the hook about staying in Holby while she ran back to Nairobi because she didn’t wear slippers and couldn’t imagine herself pushing children in swings was, in Serena’s opinion, frankly a load of bollocks.

Sara loves this story, Serena doesn’t know how many times she’s had to tell it, but Sara’s take on it is different again.

“If I had to guess, I’d say Bernie found relationships difficult, and this was her way of expressing it. Her notion that two people have to be “the right animal” isn’t exactly endorsed in the scientific world. Cross-breeding is a fascinating subject, as I’m sure you know. No, I think this was Bernie’s get-out clause.”

Serena fears she’s right. “Because, Serena, every time Bernie talked about you, I saw you exactly as she wanted me to. She spoke about you with such love and respect that I knew you before I met you. And you, what’s that crap about you not ever having another partner? You could have had anyone you wanted. But she was your soulmate. So Not the Right Sort of Animal? I don’t think so”.

Over the years, when conversations like this have surfaced, Serena has let people speculate as to why Bernie ran away. She has held back from naming the elephant in the room, or What Serena Did In The On-Call Room with an F1. Her greatest regret is that she never told Bernie herself, she made love with Bernie with the knowledge of her infidelity festering inside her.  She feels deeply ashamed that the last time she slept with Bernie, she was dissembling, hiding her guilt, and this spoilt their pleasure, something Bernie, with all her open vulnerability, picked up on. And threw back at her. Calmly, like someone dissecting a cockroach. She no longer blames Leah for coming on to her. This was never about Leah. It was about Serena trying to get back at Bernie for abandoning her, for not answering her calls, for never letting her in. And Bernie got it. In true Bernie fashion she blamed herself and then took herself away, giving Serena this pseudo-scientific excuse of Not The Right Sort of Animal.

Serena can’t go there with Sara, can’t express all this because she never thrashed it out with Bernie. That is what she wanted. To have it out with her once and for all. None of this polite tiptoeing around feelings. A good, old-fashioned argument, maybe some snarling and hair-pulling. Then they would feel better.

 The conversation moves on and Serena lets it. When she has a chance to get Sara alone she asks, with feigned casualness:

 “Did you plan to spend any of the summer at home in Holby?”

Sara blushes, unable to conceal her embarrassment. “Oh, Serena, you know how much I love coming home to you, but I have this rotation in Beirut starting in August. I was thinking I might head straight out there once I’ve picked up my stuff here. Cam has offered to collect what I don’t need and take it back to Holby.”

 “But August-that’s two weeks away”, says Serena gently. Sara looks down, hating to seem to be hurting Serena’s feelings.

 “I know, but now all the exams are over, I thought I’d go and visit some friends in Edinburgh, then pop over to Copenhagen to see the twins.”

 “Jolly good idea”, approves Serena, giving the impression she is covering up her disappointment.

 “But you know I’ll be home for Christmas. That I promise. And if you feel like it you could come out to Beirut for a few days in October? It’s lovely then.”

 “Let’s see how we go”, smiles Serena. “I might try to talk Uncle Aziz into joining me”.

 “That’s a good idea. He knows all the best restaurants- and the best Lebanese wines!”

 “I shall bear that in mind”, laughs Serena, but inside she is relieved.

Cam drives the Haynes’ and Serena back to Holby in Serena’s MPV after collecting Sara’s luggage from her flat, while Tina and the children head home to London with Charlotte and Sofie. Jason sits up front with Cam while Greta and the girls sit behind, and Serena, despite everyone’s protests, opts to take the back, the folding seat next to her full of suitcases, boxes and even a guitar, overflowing from the rear luggage compartment. Serena is glad for the space and the quiet to reflect on the beautiful day they have had and on the summer ahead. While Fleur and Gwen argue with Greta about what subjects they should study for A Levels (Gwen) and GCSE (Fleur), Serena tunes out and tries to find Bernie in her mind.

Over the years, Serena has got used to Bernie popping up at odd moments. At first, Serena thought it had something to do with the urn she kept on the mantelpiece. She would reach for the Shiraz and feel something holding her back. Or she would say a sharp word to Evie and find herself apologising – and Evie, for whom Serena’s words were water off a duck’s back, would be amazed. After a few weeks, and just before Sara arrived, Serena decided she had to do something with those ashes. She asked herself, where would Bernie have wanted them buried or scattered? And she couldn’t think. It was hardly appropriate to put them next to Adrienne’s in the Peace Garden, and it wasn’t as if she and Bernie had spent all that much time there anyway. It was Evie who came up with the answer.

“They belong here, Serena. This is where you lived with Bernie. It’s where you had all the happy times. I think she wants to stay close to you.”

Serena was amazed by Evie’s perspicacity and once the idea had taken hold, it seemed absolutely right, so one Sunday afternoon when they were both at home, Serena and Evie cleared a patch in the flowerbed and buried Bernie’s ashes. Serena said no prayers, though Evie looked at her long and hard, but inside, she felt easier. This was right, it was where Bernie belonged.

After that, Bernie doesn’t plague her quite as much, although Sara’s arrival pretty much takes care of the Shiraz and the years pass with Serena focused on this job of raising a teenager she hasn’t given birth to, eternally grateful to Bernie for having this second chance to be a mother. But every now and again, Bernie pops up and they have conversations. Like tonight.

  _Did I do the right thing_? asks Serena, _to keep her away_?

  _You did_.  _We don’t know how much time is left, but you need to cross that bridge when you come to it._

  _Thank you. You always make me feel better_.

  _Haven’t I always_?

  _Don’t get conceited now….. OK you can feel conceited. I never had with anyone else what I had with you._

_Even Leah?_

 _Don’t._ Serena shudders.

 After a while Bernie fades and Serena is left to finish the car ride holding her secret inside. Two days ago she had the diagnosis that her cancer has returned, and in its most aggressive form, anaplastic thyroid cancer, a relatively rare condition. She had noticed a thickening of the tissue in her neck and a slight cough. She has been warned that it will spread quickly. Tomorrow she starts the tests to find out where it may have already spread, and she is not optimistic, knowing the chances of surviving ATC are slim if it has reached other organs. She is grateful that Sara will not be there to see her decline.

 When she gets home, Cam puts  Sara’s stuff in her room, and goes to stay overnight with his father. Evie is on a night shift. The house is eerily quiet. Serena makes tea and takes it up to her bedroom. There is a full moon outside, and Serena sits for a while in her bay window looking down on the garden where they  buried Bernie’s ashes. Gradually, she feels the air around her thicken and Bernie’s presence returns.

  _Hello you. Not long now._

_No, I tend to think you’re right._

_Are you afraid? There’s really no need, you know._

_No, Bernie, I’m not afraid any more. My life has been good._

_I’m waiting for you. I’ll be right there._

_I know. I’ve always known._

She feels her skin tingle for a moment then the sensation fades as Bernie vanishes again.

 It won’t be long now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Serena has stopped being unable to listen to "Perfect", the song that was playing Albie's before Bernie left her, but in my imagination, when I think about it, I can see her turning to the "Symphony" version sung in a more poetic Italian by Andrea Bocelli. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXIh2uHyKTU  
> (with translation)


	5. Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post-epilogue epilogue by Terfle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Happy New Year to all you readers! My writing pal, Terfle, just couldn't leave our two favourite ladies floating around in darkness so she has added this post script to my epilogue to brighten us all up! Thank you, T., and everyone else, enjoy!

It was cold. She knew it was. It looked it, the air spiralled in front of her like fog, the wind rushed by but she could only feel the freshness of it, not the usual bitter biting chill. The sun was piercing. Had she missed Christmas?

The branches crunched under her feet as she walked straight on, through the clearing, the tip of a roof visible just beyond the trees. A flash of red gave her hope and she quickened her pace. It wasn’t Shiraz red but it would do. She was rewarded with a sight of a little red house on the edge of a wondrous azure lake. It looked peaceful, idyllic and if she had known this was going to greet her as her vision had grown dim and eventually blacked out, her heart would have been a little lighter before it had gently stopped, drawing in the silence. For how long, she didn’t know. It wasn’t a murky silence, nor a crushing one. But she’d been stuck in limbo for a while. Fluttering to the side of her vision was a tiny spark which took its time in emerging, finally flooding her world with light and here she was, standing on a road she’d never seen before.

She looked down, there were her favourite shoes. Her necklace was right where it should be. On she walked for the only way was forward. That _Beautiful South_ song was in her head, the one that had dominated the radio in the mid-90s. She never failed to recognise it. This wasn’t Rotterdam, she wasn’t going to Liverpool or Rome. Had been to all those places in her lifetime. The road ahead was anywhere alone. She couldn’t see the sign but she knew it was drawing her there. A place she’d not been before. She thought she had, in her life. She’d learned too late that she had never really been alone. There had always been someone there for her, however tenuously. But now she really was alone and she was ready for it. If this was where she would end up for eternity, she wouldn’t argue with it.

Serena stared at the opening yellow door, the tingling on the back of her neck alerting her of her presence. It could only be her. The woman she’d been longing for all these years. The woman she was supposed to have lived out her old age with.

So it was. She looked glorious standing in the doorway. There was something radiant about Bernie, as if the blast had imbued her with a warm light. She wore all black, sleek and gorgeous the way that Serena liked best. Even the sound of her voice glowed, like an ember to the fire that Serena was being drawn to.

‘You’re here.’

‘I’m here’ Serena agreed.

‘Finally.’

They stood there and looked at each other, the first time in a long time. Bernie stretched out her hand and waited for it to be taken. Serena didn’t hesitate. Bernie felt real, solid and steady. It took a while to realise they were locking lips, tasting each other for the first time in years. It just felt so natural, so easy. They’d lost none of their chemistry. Bernie ran her thumb over Serena’s lips, smiling at the thought.

‘It doesn’t come off this time.’

Serena was glad to know that she looked presentable at all times and she wasn’t going to smudge lipstick all over Bernie anymore.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘As you promised you would.’

Serena stepped inside and swept her gaze over her forever home. There was a gramophone she had remembered from her childhood and stacks of records. There were photos on a shelf of the people they’d loved and left behind or had left them first. A drinks cabinet. And a slumbering beast blocking the door leading to the kitchen. A hefty golden haired shaggy fellow who answered to the name of Max. He opened an eye and sprang up, barking wildly and racing around the new soul that had joined them. Bernie had been alone for a long time until Max had trotted up to Bernie from the depths of the horizon and they’d become fast friends. He had listened as she spoke to him lovingly of Serena and their lives together, had known about Serena before she’d got here and how much she was going to love him when she saw him. All of which was proved correct when she did finally get here, eyes sparkling at the knowledge of eternity with them, in this house on the lake.

Serena was to find out how luxurious the bed was later, their favourite things all accounted for, sentimental trinkets scattered around, shelves full of books. They had all the time in the world to do as they pleased.

And in the kitchen, a source of never ending coffee. Serena knew she was going to like it here. She looked around her in delight.

‘Are you happy?’ Bernie asked shyly.

‘Very.’

Serena drew her close and kissed all over her face. Bernie melted into her with a sigh and assured fingers stroked her neck.

That night, the house was lit up by laughter and noise, drink and joy. Max sat on the sofa thumping his tail in delight while his humans clinked glasses and danced to their hearts content. This was only the first night. Tomorrow was a new day, perhaps with rain or scorching sun and they had eternity to enjoy it.

So this was it. They were home. Together. As they always should have been.

 


End file.
